100 Prompt Challenge
by Arduine
Summary: 100 prompts, 100 stories, 250 words per story. Each story is a standalone piece unless stated.
1. DISEASE, a prelude

DISEASE, a prelude.

I heard the others speak of it as if it were a blessing to Heaven. My naive brothers and sisters were so willing to believe in such a volatile miracle. Why couldn't they see that our Father's work - although perfect - was subject to such temptation, subject to such _sin_? Yes, there were those who agreed there was some fault in his creation, but there were none who truly understood the gravity of the situation. They simply claimed that to be its purpose - to be irrevocably flawed.

But I knew; the moment it was created, our Father had doomed us all. I knew that this was only the first stage of an incurable condition, and never was I more unerring. I watched it spread like a poison, covering the Earth with its filth and leaving only devastation in its wake. Generation after generation, I watched it destroy all that we angels cherished: love turned to defiance, peace was quickly followed by war, and faith - the most important quality that should be held high above all other things - turned to question.

Yet, still my Father loved it, his failed creation. Only I could see the truth of this plague, this...this _disease_ called "Humanity." And from that truth, I would create a place where it would pay for its sin - a place where it would endure all of the pain it had cast upon Heaven. And then my brothers, my sisters - my Father - would see how truly flawed His miracle can be.

* * *

><p><em>This story was written in the style of: Dan Brown<br>__  
><em>**Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural or anyone/anything affiliated with The CW or Warner Bros.


	2. BATHROOM, a memory

BATHROOM, a memory.

The moment Dean opened the door of their crappy motel room, he was met with the sounds of muffled - but still distinctly identifiable - retching and toilet flushes. "Ah," he sighed, smiling. "Music to my ears." He strutted over to the bathroom door, the flushes and the gagging getting louder as he moved closer.

"You doin' all right in there, Sammy?" Dean sniggered, not bothering to hide his amusement as he tapped lightly on the door. He was answered with another flush and a miserable sounding moan. Letting out a chuckle, he moved away from the bathroom and sat on one of the beds, propping himself up on the headboard and stretching his feet out in front of him. Suddenly, there was a loud flutter of wings, and he turned to find Castiel clutching a brown paper bag.

"Are these what you prescribed for Sam?" Castiel asked as he handed the bag to Dean. Opening the bag, Dean pulled out a box of pills and laughed as he read the name printed on it. Leave it to Cas to bring back pills for morning sickness; ah, they're close enough.

After a particularly loud and painful sounding heave from the bathroom, Dean spoke again. "You know, Cas, I think Sam finally found God. Turns out he's made of porcelain." Dean's smile faltered as Castiel gave him a confused look.

"I don't understand," the angel replied. Dean shook his head and sighed, shutting his eyes and leaning back on the headboard.

"...Never mind."

* * *

><p><em>This story was written in the style of: J.K. Rowling<em>


	3. DELIRIOUS, a regret

DELIRIOUS, a regret.

"You're back late," Bobby stated as John trudged into the kitchen. Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, the tired man sighed as he all but fell into the empty chair across from Bobby.

"Damn Rugarus. Whole family of 'em." He gestured at the ceiling. "Sam and Dean?"

"Got 'em to sleep 'bout an hour ago. Dean kept asking for you; I told him you were out playing superhero." John smiled at that.

"You know, Bobby," He started, tilting his bottle in Bobby's direction, "I think you've got a soft spot for kids."

"You're delirious," Bobby deadpanned, taking another sip of his beer. John smiled, preparing to contradict Bobby's statement, but before he could reply, he was distracted by a loud cry coming from upstairs.

"That'll be Sam," John said. Setting his beer down on the table, he stood up from his chair and made his way over to the living room.

"Take care of those boys, John," Bobby called out to John, just before he reached the stairs. "They need a father." John paused for a moment, staring intently at the steps until he finally responded.

"I will."

* * *

><p>Bobby Singer wasn't a man of many regrets. True, he'd done many things that he wasn't proud of, but remorse wasn't exactly his forte. But even God himself had some skeletons tucked away, and Bobby was no exception. Bobby's skeletons brought him back to the night John Winchester promised to protect his children - the night Bobby had allowed himself to believe him.<p>

* * *

><p><em>This story was written in the style of: J.D. Salinger<em>


End file.
